take my thoughts with you,
as I cast them into the ocean,
and let the seagulls drown my words,
from cliffs where clouds sweep low.
wild, wind-swept spray, spits
at time turned rocks,
and stands them impotent too-
on sands that shift:
like truths, turned false and cut loose,
like flesh, that fades on a bone-bleached sky;
it hurts to set the past free-
and live in vacant rooms.
Copyright © 2025 Strider Marcus Jones
All Rights Reserved
Wonderful poem, Strider!
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I think it hurts to let the past go although the general consensus is that it is freeing. I suppose it can be both.
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Love this poem.
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[…] “VACANT ROOMS” by Strider Marcus Jones […]
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Thankye for publishing this poem dear editor Nolcha Fox. Love the awesome presentation. Best to you. ~Strider
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